


Lacunae

by Elenchus



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, now with an epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenchus/pseuds/Elenchus
Summary: Five times Martin brought Jon tea, and one time he didn't, across four seasons.Martin selects three mugs from a tray and arranges them on Jon’s desk with the air of a man issuing a challenge. Jon imagines him throwing down a porcelain gauntlet made of shattered teacups and smiles to himself.“We’re going to handle this in a proper scientific manner,” says Martin. “Trial and error. There will be notes. You can record it, if you like.” When Jon doesn’t say anything his confidence seems to deflate a bit. “Um, that was a joke, I know you don’t like to waste tape.”





	1. Chapter 1

**1.**

“What do you want, Martin?”

“Oh, ah, hello boss! Just…just wanted to bring round a cup of tea, thought I’d ask what you like.”

Jon doesn’t look up from his laptop. “I don’t like tea.”

“You…what?” Out of the corner of his eye Jon sees Martin blink in confusion. Clearly he’s never handled an idea this advanced before. Idiot. “I. Ok. I mean, it’s just – _why_?”

“Too bitter.” There’s a tall cup of black coffee on Jon’s desk. He can’t resist taking a sip as Martin watches. Petty, certainly, but one takes pleasure in office life where one can.

“I could sweeten it. Some milk, a bit of sugar or honey-”

“Then it would be sweet. I don’t like sweet.”

“ _Right_.” Martin takes a deep breath. Jon doesn’t let himself smile. “I’ll just, I’ll be on my way then. Nice talking to you, I guess.”

Jon immerses himself in the silence after Martin leaves, alone with the hum of his laptop and the glow of the screen, until-

“I’m sorry,” Martin starts, yanking the office door back open, “but _how_ can you not like _tea_ , I mean, _any_ tea, there’s so much and it’s all so different, and I’m _pretty sure_ hating tea is a national crime, have you even tried a nice roasted oolong or, or, what you can do with just a dash of cinnamon or nutmeg and-”

“Martin. _Working_.”

“Right. Sorry.” It’s the least sorry Jon has ever heard Martin sound, but at least he has the grace to close the door.

 

* * *

 

**2.**

Martin selects three mugs from a tray and arranges them on Jon’s desk with the air of a man issuing a challenge. Jon imagines him throwing down a porcelain gauntlet made of shattered teacups and smiles to himself.

“We’re going to handle this in a proper scientific manner,” says Martin. “Trial and error. There will be notes. You can record it, if you like.” When Jon doesn’t say anything his confidence seems to deflate a bit. “Um, that was a joke, I know you don’t like to waste tape.”

Jon almost tells Martin he has too much free time on his hands, then bites the comment down. It isn’t Martin’s fault he has to live at the Archives, and if there are better ways he might be passing the time…well, Jon supposes there are worse ones too.

Martin points at the first cup in the lineup. “This one, on the left, is a smoky lapsang. I haven’t added any milk or sweetener, though you might want to try that after you’ve had a few sips to see what you think.” He sounds…not exactly confident, but smoother, easier, more in control than Jon is used to. Interesting. “I thought you might like it because some of the notes are a bit like the flavors in coffee-”

“I don’t like coffee.”

Martin makes a muffled sound that speaks of great frustration and just barely greater patience. Despite himself, Jon feels an urge to explain.

“I mean, I don’t like the taste of coffee. Don’t have any feeling about it, really. It’s fine, gets the job done, and I don’t think about it much.”

Martin hums softly to himself – not unlike the sound Jon’s laptop makes when it’s processing files. “Alright. I suppose that makes sense. So when you said you didn’t like tea…same thing?”

Jon shrugs. “It was faster. You would have asked questions.”

“Ok. I can work with that. Anything to start with that you _do_ like? Or that you actively dislike?”

“Anything is fine. I don’t really care.” A thought occurs to him, a spark of the ever-present desire to know more, even if the target is only Martin. “What’s in that one?”

He points at the last mug on the tray Martin brought in. It’s a big, ugly thing with bright colors and a cartoonish smiling face. He thinks Martin might have brought it from home – he certainly can’t image Elias approving it as an Archive purchase.

Martin flushes, and in a moment he’s back to his normal, awkward, self. Jon wonders if he should be relieved.

“Oh, that’s mine. Nothing special, just a basic earl grey. A bit of milk - well a lot of milk, I suppose. And honey. It’s how my mum used to make it when – never mind, that’s not important, wouldn’t interest you, I’m just going on again aren’t I. Sorry.”

The buzzing urge to know hasn’t gone away. “Can I try it?”

Martin hands his mug over, slowly, reluctantly? “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

He’s right. There’s something in the flavor that makes Jon grimace as he takes a sip.

Martin gives a weak laugh. “Too sweet, yeah?”

“No, there’s something else. It’s sharp. I don’t care for it.” He tries to pinpoint what’s wrong. The answer feels like it’s sitting on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh,” says Martin, “that’s probably the-” _bergamot_ , Jon’s memory provides, a moment before Martin finishes “-bergamot.”

“Yes. There’s your answer: I dislike bergamot. Anything but that, if you please.”

Martin flashes him a relieved smile, and Jon feels something funny in his stomach.

Best not to go looking for a term for that.

 

* * *

 

**3.**

Jon’s eyes narrow as Martin enters his office with a cup of tea. Is he here earlier than usual? Eager to try out some plan, perhaps? Jon makes a mental note not to consume anything Martin gives him. Not that he was planning to before.

“I’m surprised you have time to make tea anymore, what with how busy it is around the Archives.”

Martin turns slightly red – a sign of guilt? “Well, it’s my job. At least I think it’s my job? No one’s ever quite explained what an archival assistant is supposed to do here – that is, of course I know what an archival assistant does normally, but it’s not really normal here, is it? Even before we all got attacked by flesh worms and creepy hidden corridors and…” his voice trails off, and he shakes his head as if to clear it. “And it’s not like I’m not making tea for myself, and I like to bring it to, to everyone else. Generally. To people. Who work here. At my job.”

Martin is a terrible liar. Jon wonders how much he’s concealing. “Be that as it may, _I_ at least have work to get done.” Martin doesn’t move. “Good _bye_ , Martin.”

Martin jumps a little at that and hurries out the door with a final look behind him. He leaves the cup of tea. Jon decides he’ll pour it down the sink later so Martin doesn’t grow suspicious.

Five minutes later, immersed in sorting through records, Jon absently takes a sip. It’s still warm, and along with Jon’s sudden spike of anxiety is – to his great annoyance – a matching feeling of warmth inside his chest. The tea is wonderful, subtle and complex, not too sweet without being bitter. Martin’s best effort so far, and that’s saying something.

“Probably the cyanide giving it that extra flair,” Jon mutters under his breath, and he makes himself go pour the rest out before he forgets again.

 

* * *

 

**4.**

Martin is almost out the door, hand on the doorframe, before Jon finds his voice. “I- Martin!”

Martin turns around, expectant, and Jon struggles to form a coherent sentence. Damn, this is absurd, they’d had a whole…heart to heart, or whatever that was supposed to be, just a few days ago, just like he’d promised Georgie. This should be _easy_.  Everything that isn’t being kidnapped and nearly _murdered_ for his damn _skin_ should be easy, probably. “Do you- do you want to talk?”

Martin blinks. “Yeah. Sure, that would be…nice.”

Jon doesn’t have an extra chair in his office. _Stupid_. _Augh_.  Martin is just standing there, waiting for him to say something. Maybe it would be better if Jon stood up too? No, that’s a terrible idea. He’d just be awkwardly standing behind his desk. He clears his throat to stall for time.

“Can I do something for you? Help you out, maybe?” Martin sounds almost hopeful. Which doesn’t make any sense, but it’s better than getting yelled at by Melanie so Jon supposes he’ll take it.

“No, I just…” Jon clears his throat again. “We were talking about how we should…talk more. So I thought…” He gestures helplessly around the office. The chair-less office. This is a mess, he’s better than this. He forces his thoughts back in place. “Look, I _know_ you have better things to do now than to bring me my morning tea, and that’s not a dig, I promise, and I appreciate it, it’s a highlight of my day, really,” nope, that’s too much honesty, reel it back in, “I just mean that if you’re still coming here, when there’s so much going on, I assume it’s not just because you feel obligated. And if it’s because you’d like to talk, I want you to know that I meant what I said before, and I’m, well, here for you. And I’m sorry I haven’t been good at it before.” Or now, apparently.

There’s a pause as Martin takes it in. Maybe Martin will decide to yell at him after all, decide it _is_ Jon’s fault he’s trapped here. He wouldn’t be wrong. But when he speaks, his voice is impossibly gentle. “Do you have something you want to talk about, Jon? It works both ways, you know.”

“I- not really. No.”

There’s another moment of silence. Oddly, it isn’t unpleasant.

“D’you want to maybe go sit somewhere and not talk about anything important at all?” Martin asks.

“God, _yes._ ”

 

* * *

 

**5.**

Jon finds the cup of tea he had carefully made – had Known just how much milk to add, how much honey, when to stop boiling the water to get the temperature just right, had affixed a post-it note that read “for Martin” and left in a place something told him Martin would come – on the table in the breakroom, untouched, unchanged except for the line crossing out Martin’s name.

“ _For the Archivist_ ” a voice doesn’t whisper. As if Jon wanted it.

 

* * *

 

**?**

There’s a mug of hot tea sitting on Jon’s desk. Jon doesn’t know how it got there. For a moment he thinks – well, better not to dwell on what he thinks, or what he suddenly, inconveniently, feels. Things are different now, and he has to accept that. Doesn’t he? His head hurts.

Still. Jon knows that mug. He’s knows without looking that underneath that absurd crocheted cozy – bright orange, fastened with an ugly wooden button by the handle – he’ll find two big googly eyes and a cartoon smile.

Only one man ever uses that mug. Martin wouldn’t have left it for him. Even if he were leaving Jon cups of tea these days.

Which he isn’t.

It would be absolutely, utterly stupid to drink a mysterious cup of tea that shouldn’t be on his desk. Stupid even to touch it. But these days Jon finds he doesn’t much care. If it couldn’t have been Martin, it couldn’t have been anyone else other than Martin either. Could it? No, of course it could. Jon hates the mystery, hates all these questions without good answers.

He picks up the mug, frowning slightly as he pulls up a bit of spiderweb along with it. _Ugh_. He’ll have to clean his desk again; this isn’t the first time he’s found stray webs clinging to it. And of course he can’t ask Martin to come take care of – no, don’t think about that. Jon grasps the handle of the mug, breathes in the warm steam and lets himself pretend for a moment that things are different.

He’s not even surprised when the scent of bergamot hits him. It’s a common enough tea, no real reason to assume – or is it Knowing? How is he supposed to tell the difference? – that somewhere in the Institute, Martin is frantically searching for a cup of tea he'd been about to drink.


	2. Epilogue

Martin sways slightly as the train hits a bump in the tracks, trying to keep both of the paper cups he’s holding from spilling. Jon’s so distracted trying not to stare that it takes him a moment to process Martin arriving at their seats and handing him a cup of hot tea.

“I thought the dining car was closed for the night,” Jon says, because apparently he can’t turn his brain off after all. He’d gone by earlier, actually, with the thought that maybe he could bring something nice back for Martin, and a prickly part of him feels outdone somehow.

Martin eases back into his seat across from Jon, setting his cup on the small table between them. The train car is almost empty; Jon isn’t sure if it’s the odd hour or perhaps some vestiges of the Lonely clinging to their skin and seeping into their surroundings. He’s even less sure what it means that he likes the dark, quiet silence around them – even after everything they’ve been through in the last few days. He should really be throwing himself into crowds, not savoring the illusion that he and Martin are the only two people in the world. 

Martin looks up at Jon and then looks down again, running his finger around the plastic lid of his cup as if distracted by something. “Hm? Oh, yeah, it was closed. But you know, I summoned all my evil strength and used my mystical spooky powers to- oh come on, don’t look at me like that Jon, they just had a little cord up around the snacks counter and I jumped over it and took some teabags. Left a few bills in the tip jar after.”

That solution had genuinely never occurred to Jon. He’s unaccountably charmed. “A criminal act! I’m shocked. Does this make me accessory to a crime?”

Martin blushes slightly and looks absurdly adorable. In Jon’s completely objective opinion. “Yep, that’s me: international wanted man of mystery. Better watch out if you’re going to keep such dastardly company.”

Jon can’t help but smile. “At least we’ll have a good story if anyone asks why we’re on the run.”

Martin nods sagely. “Wanted for tea crimes.” He takes a sip from his cup and grimaces. “Ugh, it isn’t even any good. I thought villainy was supposed to sweeten the prize.”

“No, that’s honey. See, I have learned many tea facts.” Jon somehow keeps a straight face as he takes a sip himself. When he looks back up, Martin is staring at him. “What?” Had he said something off? He’s trying, he really is; he doesn’t know what this thing is now between him and Martin, even as he’s come to a clear realization of what he wants it to be. He doesn’t want to make assumptions or, or do anything that might make Martin uncomfortable, now that he’s finally back in Jon’s life. Was he accidentally flirting? He doesn’t think so, but he’s hardly an expert on what is and isn’t flirting activity, and Martin is still looking at him with that look on his face and-

“I love you,” Martin says. The direct simplicity of it takes Jon’s breath away. “I know you- you probably already know and all, _everyone_ knows, but I just. I wanted to say it myself. To you. I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient, but actually, I’m _not_ sorry at all, you’re wonderful and brilliant and there’s this thing you do with your eyebrows that gives me the _stupidest_ butterflies in my stomach. So. I love you. I have for a long time, and I’m pretty sure it’s not going to stop any time soon. Just so we’re both clear.” Martin nods to himself, as if he feels he’s finally settled an important point, and takes another sip of his tea with hands that are only barely shaking around the paper cup. “Right then! On to something else. Like how this tea was probably developed as an attempt to get around the Geneva Conventions prohibition on torture, because _really-”_

“Can I kiss you?” Jon blurts out. Everything he wants to say, every eloquent speech he might give in response is jumbled up in his head, but that thought is _very clear_ and it falls out of his mouth before he has time to gauge if it’s a good idea.

Martin’s staring at him again, looking frozen for a moment in shock, which might be either a bad sign or a good one, Jon has no idea. “I. Uh. Wow. Do- do you _want_ to?”

“Yes, very _very_ much,” Jon answers with complete truthfulness.

The smile that breaks over Martin’s face is pure sunlight, made of clarity and light and truths Jon has been searching out for month. “Yeah,” he breathes out softly, “I’d really like that too,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I was _going_ to leave everything in an uncertain and bittersweet place, but then canon came along with New Tea Opportunities (Teaportunities). If you like your angst, feel free to consider this an AU epilogue.


End file.
